


Redemption

by MaryaDmitrievnaLikesSundays



Category: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon LGBTQ Character, Coming Out, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gay Male Character, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, Love Letters, Multi, Redemption
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 10:21:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28598382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaryaDmitrievnaLikesSundays/pseuds/MaryaDmitrievnaLikesSundays
Summary: Bea sighed. She looked just like how Philip felt: drained, angry, and exhausted.”What if you had never been allowed to marry Martha?” She asked. “What if you’d been forced to sneak around, and suddenly, in spite of how hard you worked to keep it quiet, you’re both in a load of trouble for it, and everyone is screaming at you, and she is crying to you and you can’t even comfort her because you’re still not allowed? How do you think you’d feel then?”Philip was silent for a long, long moment.Bea gave him one more glance as she opened the door to the dining room.”Read the e-mails, Philip. And try to understand.”——Or, Philip says some very bad things, does some very bad things, reads the e-mails, and finally, finally, finally understands.
Relationships: Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, Beatrice Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor & Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor & Philip Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, Martha Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor/Philip Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor
Comments: 26
Kudos: 290





	Redemption

**Author's Note:**

> Lmao wait I’ve fallen into a depression

Philip never woke up well. No matter how many pillows he slept with, how early he went to bed, how much he loved holding Martha to him at night, he woke up like hell. His back hurt, his eyes were crossed, and everything just felt _wrong._

So, of course, when he opened his eyes on another late-September day, he immediately groaned. Just like that, he was off to a bad start.

He winced as he turned over onto his back, blinking up at the ceiling. Just like every morning, he needed to make his list. Sort out his mind, and his body was sure to follow.

Things he had to worry about today:

1\. Coffee. And scones. He really needed some of those sent up.

2\. His budget meeting for Kensington.

3\. His tennis match, which he honestly felt he was getting a bit old for.   
  


4\. Coffee. He really, really wanted coffee.

5\. Everything else. Bea’s sobriety anniversary coming up, Gran’s garden remodeling, Martha’s dinner party, Henry’s...

Well. Philip tried not to think of Henry these days. If he had to be so wrong, the least he could do was keep it under wraps.

Philip sighed and dragged a hand down his face. His list was made, now time to execute it.

He reached over and grabbed his phone off of the nightstand. As he unlocked it, he thought there were far more messages than usual, but his eyes were still blurred from sleep.

He went to the news app first, as usual. Today’s headline was blown up in letters bold enough for even Philip’s morning eyes to see:

_QUEEN HENRY: Inside The Prince’s Gay Affair With The First Son Of The United States!_

Just below it was a gigantic, centered, clear-as-day picture of Henry kissing—kissing _another man_.

Philip looked closer, read the headline again, his stomach dropping further than he thought it could go. That man was _Alexander Claremont-Diaz_ , the sarcastic little shit Henry kept tagging along with.

”Fuck,” Philip whispered savagely. He threw off the covers and leapt to his feet, pulling on shoes and throwing a coat on over his pajamas. Alexander Claremont-Diaz was fucking his brother. A foreign, angry, rebellious, _male_ twat was fucking the prince, and now the entire family—no, the entire country—was fucked, too.

  
Henry was supposed to keep it under wraps. He knew it, Philip knew it, Gran knew it, too. Philip thought Henry admitting to his condition was bad enough, a major slip that with enough discipline would never happen again, but now he had to go and tell the entire bloody world.

Everybody and their mum was calling him, and he didn’t have time to answer a single one. He powered off his phone and slipped it into the pocket of his sweatpants.

As he turned to run out the door, Phillip stopped and looked back at Martha. She had stirred a bit when he stood, but she was back sound asleep, her mouth slightly agape and her hair spread around her head like a crown.

Philip smiled. No matter what happened, she’d be there for him when he got back.

Then, he turned towards the door.

——

The car pulled up to Kensington, to the side door of Henry’s apartments where he had done God-knows-what with Alexander, and Philip practically threw himself out.

He had no plan. He didn’t know what he was going to do, or why he was going to do it. He had nothing but his fury, and the shattered remains of the reputation he’d spent years maintaining for himself—for everyone.

Nobody tried to stop him as he stormed up to the hall outside of the music room. He turned the corner, and there they were—Bea, her hair tied up in a haphazard knot, speaking softly to Henry across from her. Henry, his hair a mess and his feet bare and his face red and blotchy. He looked wretched, and all Philip could think was, _good_.

  
They turned to look at him. Henry’s eyes widened, and Philip’s instincts took over. He was barely in control of his feet as they took him across the wooden floors, his lungs as they released a noise that was hardly human, his hands as they took hold of Henry’s collar and shoved him backwards with all their might.

Henry let out a little shout as he fell back, knocking into the table behind him and the probably priceless vase on it. They all crashed down together, table and porcelain and horrific heir. The vase shattered under Henry’s hands, shards sticking into his skin and streaming blood.

Bea screamed, “What the _fuck_?” And ran to Henry’s side, pulling him to a sitting position, but Philip was already talking.

”What the bloody hell is wrong with you?!” He shouted. “You have _one single job_ right now, and that’s to keep this under wraps! I should have sent you off years ago, then this wouldn’t have happened, because you would have learned some form of _discipline_. Of _duty._ I swear to God, if I was still military fit I would take every goddamn—“

”Philip—“ Bea tried to say, but Philip didn’t care.

”Do you know how much time I have devoted to saving both of you? Over and over and over you two have tried to ruin us, to destroy everything we stand for, and I’ve wasted _years_ of my life fixing it. Neither of you ever had what it takes to live right in this family. At least Bea had the fucking _decency_ to keep her problem a secret after it was solved, but _you_? Jesus, Henry. I always knew you were my biggest problem, but even this is beyond anything I could imagine. Look at yourself! Look at what you _did_ to—“

” _Philip_!” Bea interrupted, her voice so shrill and high that Philip had to comply. “Shut up!”

Henry winced beneath her. Bea and Philip both turned to look at him, sitting in a pool of blood, surrounded by the remains of a historical artifact.

He slowly lifted his shaking hands, filled with porcelain shards and streaming blood. His voice was surprisingly steady.

”Look at what _you_ did,” he said.

Philip snapped his mouth shut. Henry rose to his feet, refusing Bea’s offers to help, and limped into the music room. He slammed the door shut behind him, leaving nothing but a bloody handprint in his wake.

Bea stepped in front of Philip, her face only inches from his. She looked furious, angrier than she ever had, even when she was coked out and running from rehab.

”You are going to go back to Amber Hall,” she said, her voice shaking with barely concealed rage, “and I don’t want to hear a single word from you again. I’m locking every door on this floor to you. If you show your face in this palace, I will _personally_ contact the most dangerous people I used to buy from and tell them exactly where you live and how to get into the back entrance.”

She pushed him backwards with more strength than he would have expected from her small body. “Now _leave_.”

And with that, she stomped to the music room, locking the door behind her.

Philip balled his fists and pounded on the door, shouting to be heard, but Bea started playing some rock singer so loud that he could hardly hear himself think. No one let him in.

With a huff, he turned and stormed back to the car. The driver looked at the blood on his sleeves and said nothing.

  
The entire way home, Henry’s words rang in his ears.

_Look at what you did._

——

Philip barely knew what happened over the next few days. He knew that he turned his phone’s service off and locked it in a drawer. He knew that his mother came around crying. He knew that he tried to get through to Henry one, five, ten times, and the only time they could even have a conversation, Henry and his boytoy screamed at him and ran.

By the time Philip sat down for the family meeting at Buckingham, he was so burnt out and fuming that he thought he might just scream if Henry refused to fix this problem already.

When their grandmother offered Henry an out, a glimmer of hope rose in Philip. This could all be over by the end of the day. Philip’s life work and responsibilities would be damaged, but not destroyed beyond repair. For once, Henry could be mature and make the right choice.

Of course, he didn’t. He chose his little fling over the crown, and both Bea and Mum sided with him. It made Philip want to flip his damn lid, but he wasn’t afforded even a single word. The one time he tried to butt in, Bea spilled boiling tea on his leg and all but dragged him out of the room.

The second the hall door shut behind them, Bea whirled on him.

”For once in your life,” she hissed as he frantically tried to dab away the tea burning his thighs, “let him have something.”

Philip looked up at her. He thought he was running on empty, but this ordeal had been enough to relight something in him. “I have let him have _everything_ ,” he said. “The—the gap year, the English major, the friendship with that Percy fellow—“

”Basic human decencies. Yeah, Phillip, great job. It’s not enough.”

Philip dropped the towel he was using to dry his pants, the tea forgotten. “Not enough? I was never given my own freedoms to enjoy. Why should he be any different?”

Bea laughed bitterly. “Philip, no one forced you to choose the life you have. You told us yourself that you liked the tradition and wanted it, so don’t you dare try and act like the martyr here.”  
  


”So, what, I’m supposed to just let the crown fall to ruin because you two don’t value what I do?”

”No,” Bea said, her tone calm and slow as if she were talking to a child. “You’re supposed to _understand_ that we don’t value what you do, and let us be.”

Philip scoffed. “Jesus, Bea, you can’t possibly think—“

”Did you read the emails?” Bea interrupted. Her voice was stony, and so were her eyes. She looked just like Mum.

”No. God, no, why would I want to?” Philip answered.

Bea hummed, like that explained a lot. “Normally, I’d never encourage someone to go rifling through our brother’s private life like this. But you need to read them. Maybe then you’ll understand.”

”I understand perfectly well already, thank you.”

Bea sighed. She looked just like how Philip felt: drained, angry, and exhausted.

”What if you had never been allowed to marry Martha?” She asked. “What if you’d been forced to sneak around, and suddenly you’re both in a load of trouble for it, and everyone is screaming at you, and she is crying to you and you can’t even comfort her because you’re still _not allowed_? How do you think you’d feel then?”

Philip was silent for a long, long moment.

Bea gave him one more glance as she opened the door to the dining room.

”Read the e-mails, Philip. And try to understand.”

Then, she was gone, leaving Philip alone with his thoughts and his soaked-through pants.

——

That night, Phillip crawled into bed around midnight. Martha was already fast asleep, her form turned to face him.

He studied her face, her soft cheeks and long eyelashes and gently curving jawline. What if someone had tried to take her away?

What if she was thousands of miles away, buried beneath e-mail servers and fake dates and the fear of the truth? What if she, his brightest light, was also his darkest secret?

He brushed a hair away from her face, turned off the lamp, and tried to sleep.

——

The next morning, he woke up poorly. He always did.

He wasn’t quite sure how it happened. He made his tea, put on his clothes, brushed his teeth all as usual. So how had he ended up sat at the small kitchen table, printed copies of the official e-mails spread out before him?

He took a breath. He didn’t have to do this. Nobody was telling him to, nobody had a gun to his head and was forcing him. He didn’t even really want to. Just the thought of what disgusting, lewd things his brother may have written made his stomach twist.

And yet, he reached for the first e-mail.

At first, he was disgusted. The line _you shall have to find someone else to accost in a cloakroom_ made him so nauseous he almost stood and gave up. But he was a trained prince and soldier. He had discipline, and he carried on.

Beyond the grotesque hookup lines that Phillip tried to skip over, there was a lot of nothing. A lot of _Will try to get out of Germany_ and _Remember those gay kings I mentioned?_ and _My favorite author is Jane Austen_. It was nothing special, no sign of deep love or commitment like Bea had said, but it was...odd. This was a side of Henry that Phillip hadn’t seen, a man who was funny and confident and quick with a joke. It was a far cry from the timid, reserved prince that Phillip had pushed into a vase.

But some lines do really surprise him.

Of course, there was the inescapable _History, huh?_ That had been plastered onto every t-shirt and bumper sticker in the world. But that snippet had cut out Alex asking Henry about his history. About _their_ history.

And good Lord, Henry truly hadn’t put that English degree to waste. Philip had never in his life wanted to imagine the First Son’s body, but Henry wrote of him like he was art, some kind of god among men. Philip found that he couldn’t tear his eyes away from, _I can hold my breath and be back there with you, in a dream, in a thousand rooms, nowhere at all_.

And their fears. God above, they were so afraid. _No part of any of this will ever be uncomplicated_ and _How was I so wrong?_ and _I told Philip_ and everything in between. Philip had figured his brother had been afraid to be outted like this, but to see it written down in his own words was something entirely different.

He kept reading, unfurling little bits of his brother’s heart, of what he held dear and true. Of the North Star and the boy with his heart outside of his body and the trapped space prince with his Jedi rebel. The longer they went on, the harder they were to read, but Philip couldn’t stop.

_I love you terribly, and I want you back here soon._

_You see, for me, memories are difficult._

_I thought, if someone like that ever loved me, it would set me on fire._

_I wish I could send hope._

Philip’s breath hitched as he read, _I took my first time, with one of my brother’s mates from uni when I was seventeen, and I found the smallest, most cramped broom closet I could muster, and I shoved it in._ He thought he would be sick.

When Henry was seventeen, Philip was _twenty-three_. And most of his mates had been a year or two above him. Philip’s heart twisted at the thought of Henry, young and grieving and desperate for any kind of love or connection, giving himself to a man eight years his senior.

He was glad he’d long since fallen out with most of them, because if he’d still had their numbers saved, he’d have everyone it could have been thrown in custody as fast as possible.

Finally, he reached the end:

_Thank you from the bottom of my heart for having saved me. I was drowning and you threw yourself into the water without hesitation, without a backward look._

Philip pushed the page away and leaned back in his chair.

Henry was...there was no one word for it. He was so much more than Philip had ever seen. Than he had ever tried to look for. It had always been there, screaming to be let out, and Philip had never seen, because he had never wanted to.

This wasn’t some fling, a random boytoy that Henry just decided to throw away his life for. He loved Alex, loved their life, loved what they had. He wanted it _forever_. What was Philip meant to do with such a big word?

And what had Philip’s part been in his pain? Entire paragraphs were written about what he’d done. It was no wonder he got dirty looks in the shops now, why even his own guards seemed to sneer at him. His words were out there, bared for all the world to see, and he hated it.

Then he realized, this was what Henry felt, except magnified by millions. He had poured out his heart, every secret and detail he’d kept away for the sake of the crown, and with the click of a button, the entire planet saw it in a matter of hours.

”Philip?”  
  


Philip jumped and turned. Martha was standing in the doorway, wrapped in a robe, her hair just brushed but her eyes still heavy lidded with sleep.   
  


She approached him, put her hands on his shoulders. “What are you doing?”

Philip shook his head and looked back to the papers. “I finally read the bloody e-mails.”

Martha hummed but said nothing.

Philip sighed, and finally said what he’d been terrified of. “I think I’ve been the world’s biggest fool.”

Behind him, Martha let out a small laugh. Philip whirled around and saw her actually smiling at him. “It’s about time,” she said softly.

Of course she knew he’d been a fool. What didn’t she know?

”I just...I don’t like it, still. I think it’s wrong and irresponsible of him, but...but I hurt him so much more than I should have. He was hurting so much _more_ than he should have. And all I did was make it worse.”

Martha nodded, and Philip was suddenly overcome with gratitude for her. Martha, his beautiful wife, level and strong and mature, always by his side. Never in danger of being taken away at the slightest misstep.

”You did,” she said slowly, “but now you can try to make it right. So, what are you going to do?”

Philip blinked. He hadn’t considered future action, but now...

”I’ve got to go talk to him,” he said, standing from his chair. “I’ve—Jesus Christ, I’ll have to call Bea first, convince her to let me in, and then I’ll have to get through to Mum, and...”

He trailed off. Martha was staring at him, her lips pursed and one eyebrow raised.

”Right,” he said. “I’ll figure it out on the way there.”

She smiled and leaned forwards to kiss him. He leaned into it, just a bit.

”Try to make amends,” she whispered. “And I’ll be here for you when you get back.”

She left quietly, closing the door on her way out.

Philip raced to their room and grabbed his phone out of the nightstand, dialed Bea’s number as he ran to the driveway.

She picked up on the fifth ring. “I’ve only picked up because Mum made me, but I swear to God, if you even _try_ to tell me—“

”I was wrong,” he interrupted. “About all of it.”

Stunned silence filled the other end of the line. It stretched on for so long that Philip thought maybe she’d hung up, but then she said, “What do you mean?”

”I—I read the e-mails, and you were right. Christ, you were all right, and I’ve been a massive arse this entire time, and I’m coming straight over to talk to Henry if he’ll let me.”

There was some muffled conversation on Bea’s side. Philip climbed into the backseat of a car and directed the driver. He waited anxiously as they started to drive.

Finally, Bea said, “You can come. But I swear to God, if you say even one wrong thing, I’ll kill you myself.”

”I can’t promise that. Bea, you know I can’t promise that. I’m going to do my best, but I’ve been such an idiot for so long. I don’t know how to do this right.”

Bea sighed. “Fine. But I’m keeping a chart of every dumbass thing you say.”

”Deal.”

A long moment of silence. The well-kept courtyard streets faded into the endless fields and forests of the country outside Philip’s window.

”How do I know you’re serious?” Bea asked, her voice skeptical.

”You don’t. Just...please try to trust me.”

”And Gran? What are you planning on telling her?”

”Gran can go fuck herself,” Philip said a little too loudly. The driver shot him an odd look.

Bea laughed, and her voice was a bit lighter when she said, “Alright, you’re serious.” Her tone lowered. “But you’re not forgiven yet.”

”I know. And I know it’ll take time. I just...I need to start now. The rest will follow.”

Bea said, “I’ll see you there. Try not to fuck it up.”

She hung up, and Philip was left alone with his thoughts.

_Look at what you did._

He looked. And he prayed that after today, tomorrow, however long it took, he could look again and not be so disgusted by what he saw.

**Author's Note:**

> Comment sluts I love ur stupid little reviews it makes me so happy  
> AYO COMMENT WHERE YALL AT


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